The Exploding Time Bomb
by ChrisR
Summary: A first-season adventure inspired by the Get Smart board game of the same name.


This story is based on the premise and characters from _Get Smart: The Exploding Time Bomb Game_. In deference to the game's 1965 production date it is set during the show's first season meaning that it takes place earlier than my previous stories. For those who know the game there are some "Easter eggs" but hopefully it stands on its own.- ChrisR

THE EXPLODING TIME BOMB

CONTROL HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C.

The Chief looked up from his desk as the connecting door to the outer office slid open and a slight, balding, nervous-looking man entered gulping for air.

"Hodgkins? Why are you puffing like that?"

"I'm out of breath."

"I can see that," the Chief replied testily. He pointed to a piece of paper that Hodgkins was clutching in his right hand. "What's that?" he demanded, hoping to bring some clarity to the situation.

"I was just down in the decoding room," Hodgkins stammered. "They've intercepted a message from the KAOS High Command that I thought you should see right away."

The Chief accepted the paper and read it carefully, his scowl deepening. "This is terrible."

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Don't apologize, Hodgkins. You're not responsible." The Chief regarded his assistant darkly. "Are you?"

Hodgkins drew himself up indignantly. "No, sir!"

"Good. Now get Smart on the shoe phone immediately."

At this, Hodgkins looked even more nervous, if that were possible. "Smart?" he repeated. "Is that wise, sir?"

"Wise, Hodgkins? Of course it's not wise. But I'm desperate. Maxwell Smart may be an incompetent, bumbling idiot but through some means that I've never been able to divine he gets results. Now snap to it!"

"Yes, sir."

xxxxx

"I got here as fast as I could, Chief," Max said as he punched his time card in the machine near the Chief's office door. "What's this all about?"

"A matter of the utmost urgency," the Chief replied gravely.

Max waggled the time card at him before replacing it in his jacket. "You realize that the rates are higher for a rush job."

He seated himself in front of the desk - unfortunately hitting the floor on his first attempt but remembering to slide the chair under himself for the second.

The Chief continued as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

"We've learned that four KAOS saboteurs have slipped into the city and each of them has planted a time bomb set to explode within the next twelve hours. Unlike Mr. Big's threat against the Statue of Liberty there have been no ransom demands. The motive seems to be simply to panic the populace."

"And you want me to deactivate the bombs," Max surmised. "You couldn't have come to a better man. During the war I deactivated ten thousand bombs without a single fatality."

"Ten thousand bombs, Max? I find that hard to believe."

"Would you believe one thousand with no injuries?"

"I don't think so."

"How about a Chinese pinwheel and a singed pinkie"

"Max, I don't want you to go anywhere near the bombs. We don't even know where they are. I want you and 99 to track down the saboteurs. Then we'll turn them over to the Grill Team who'll beat the- that is, they'll persuade them to reveal the bombs' locations. The Bomb Squad can take it from there."

Max brightened. "99?"

"You two have worked together on a number of cases now and I think you make a good team."

"Yes," Max murmured. His eyes had a faraway look that the Chief had never seen before. "99 is very . . . intelligent."

The Chief smirked at Max's choice of words. "I'm glad you think so."

"What do we know about the saboteurs, Chief?"

The Chief indicated a file on his desk. "We think they may have been living here for quite some time under deep cover before being activated for this assignment. We've got their names from our intercepts - or at least the names they've been going by. And from those one of our informants has provided descriptions from which we've been able to piece together these Identi-pics."

"Is that all?"

"That and a last known address. They're probably long gone by now but it's a place to start." He tapped the folder. "Take this with you. I've already sent copies to all the law enforcement agencies. We need to get as many eyes around the table as possible."

Max picked up the file and stood to leave.

The Chief stood, too, and extended his hand. "Good luck, Max. And be careful. These men are dedicated to their cause. They'll stop at nothing to protect their secrets. You'll be in danger of death and worse from the moment you leave here."

"And loving it."

"Of course."

Max paused. "I'd like to take Fang along, too. We don't have much to go on and maybe he can sniff out a few clues."

The Chief nodded assent. "Very well."

Max stared at him. "Because he's a dog."

"I know, Max."

"And dogs sniff."

The Chief remained impassive. "Get going, Max."

"Right, Chief."

 _Astute readers of this chronicle will no doubt by now have deduced from the title that one of the time bombs_ will _explode, and in that conclusion they would be correct. The clock is ticking . . ._

xxxxx

"Really, Max? I don't remember ever seeing the Chief laugh."

"Oh, yes, 99. The Chief loves a good joke."

99 looked perplexed. "And that was a good one?"

Max opened his mouth to reply, thought of none, and merely narrowed his gaze at her. Fortunately he found reason to change the subject: a dilapidated apartment building that the sign identified simply as Larry's. "This must be the place," he announced, comparing the number on the building to the address from the file. "Sit, boy." This last was to Fang, who had been walking ahead of them at the end of his leash.

"Why are we stopping?'' 99 asked.

"We need to decide on a plan of attack."

"A plan of attack for what? I thought you said there's no one there."

"We don't know that for sure, 99. In case there is someone there we have to figure out a clever way to get them to come to the door."

"Why don't we just knock?"

Max considered. "The old knocking trick, eh? I've fallen for that one myself. All right. Let's try it."

The apartment was on the second floor.

Max, 99 and Fang exited the stairwell.

"Two-oh-one," said Max. "There it is."

They approached the door and Max knocked a steady tattoo.

To their surprise it was the door behind them on the other side of the hall that opened.

A small, wizened old woman peered out at them. "Who are you?" she demanded peevishly.

"Er, good morning, Mrs., er ...," Max began.

"Mos' folks jes' calls me Granny."

"Er, Granny ... Er, I'm Maxwell Smart and, er, this is my ... "

"Wife."

"-sister. Er, my wife's sister."

Granny shook her head. "You young'uns. Galavantin' for all t'see. T'weren't like that in my day."

Max flushed. "No. It's not like that. We're looking for the people who live in the apartment across the hall."

"Them good boys? What'd you be wantin' wi' them?"

"Well, we're looking for clues to-Ow!" He broke off sharply as 99 elbowed him in the ribs.

"They're my cousins," 99 interjected. "We haven't heard from them for a while and we're worried about them."

"You kin o' them good boys? That's diff'ren'. Y'all come on in and we c'n set and jawbone for a spell. I got a mess o' grits on the stove."

"That's very kind of you," 99 replied, "but I'm afraid we don't have the time."

"Them good boys always had time for an old lady," Granny said wistfully. "Jawin' and sharin' vittles when I know'd they got plenty t' do. Then there was the time they took care o' that nasty boy from down the hall."

Max and 99 exchanged glances. "Took care of?" Max repeated.

"He was a nasty boy - not like them good boys - always playin' that infernal rock'n'roll at all hours. Couldn' get a lick o' sleep. But them good boys took care of it for me. Talked to him real good. Never heard him agin. Never saw him agin either, come to think of it." She looked up at Max. "They wuz good boys," she added solemnly.

"I see," Max said noncommittally. Then a thought struck him. "Wuz- were? When was the last time you saw them?"

"Moved out a week ago, sorry t' say."

"Do you mind if we look around their apartment?"

"Makes no nevermind to me. Oh, wait. The landlord give me the key in case anyone wanted t' rent the place."

She disappeared momentarily and returned with the key.

"Thank you," said Max. "You've been a big help." He took a step back, his foot inadvertently nudging Fang who had taken the opportunity for a nap and was curled up on the floor. "Sorry about that, Fang."

"Is'at your dog?" The old lady asked, apparently seeing him for the first time.

"He's a good boy!" Max blurted by reflex.

99 frowned at him. "His name's Fang," she said. "Fang, say hello to Granny."

Fang slowly stood up, looked at Granny through sleepy eyes, and yawned.

"Puts me in mind o' m' ol' huntin' dog Duke," said Granny. "'Ceptin' he's a mite hairier."

Max and 99 bade their farewells and made their way back across the hall. The last they saw of the old lady she was standing in her doorway waving and calling, "Y'all come back now, y'hear?"

xxxxx

Apartment 201 was sparsely furnished as befitted the lair of a transient terrorist cell.

Operating as the well-oiled machine they had become, Max took the front, 99 took the rear, and Fang went back to sleep.

After a few minutes 99 re-emerged. "The bedroom's set up as dormitory," she reported. "Two bunk beds. But all the drawers and closets have been cleared out."

"Same out here," Max replied. "Standard-issue living-room furniture. But they've taken all their personal possessions with them - if they ever had any."

"Did you look behind the sofa? Sometimes things fall down behind there."

"I was just about to do that, 99. There's nothing here but this old beat-up hat. Wait a minute. I've seen this hat before." He turned it around in his hands. It was yellow with a wide brim and a black band. He snapped his fingers. "That's it! Gunner Gus is wearing this hat in his Identi-pic picture." He took the file from his jacket. "See?"

"You're right, Max."

"I never forget a hat." He carried the headgear in question to the corner where Fang was snoring peacefully. "Wake up, Fang. I brought you along to sniff, so sniff. No, not that. The hat. Sniff the hat." To 99 he added, "If he can get a scent he may be able to lead us right to our man."

Suddenly Fang jumped up and barked, shaking off the lethargy that seemed to have gripped him thus far.

"He's got the scent, 99!"

Max tossed the helpful head covering back behind the sofa and the three of them raced out of the apartment, through the hall, back down the stairs to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk.

"Which way, Fang?"

Fang sniffed to the right, sniffed to the left, chose the former and bounded off, pulling Max off his feet by the leash, only to stop abruptly in front of the adjacent building. Max and 99 pivoted. They were in front of a hat shop.

"No, no, Fang. I don't want a hat. I want the man under the hat."

"No, Max," said 99. "Look."

Max looked through the shop window. "It's Gunner Gus," he said in wonder. "Of course. He's buying a new hat. Good boy, Fang." He squatted and hugged the dog around the neck. "I told you he was a good boy."

99 smiled at the display. "What's our plan of attack?"

Max smiled; she was catching on. "We wait until he comes out. Then I'll distract him while you put the cuffs on him."

"Don't you think it'll work better the other way around?"

"Oh? Mmm. Maybe so."

They didn't have to wait long before their quarry sauntered out of the shop with his new chapeau tilted at a jaunty angle. 99 batted her baby blues at him and he stopped and looked her up and down. "Well, hello dere, doll."

Meanwhile, Max was felling him with a karate chop, grabbing his hand and clapping the handcuff around his wrist; sending the topper toppling in the process. "Hey, what's da big idea?" he protested.

"The big idea, Gus," Max replied, "is you're under arrest."

"Aw," Gunner Gus moaned, having been swiftly and sadly disabused of the notion that his bran-new bonnet would prove to be his lucky lid. The subsequent loss of his namesake firearm after a quick frisk seemed less of a disappointment.

While 99 judiciously flashed her ID to ward off civilian interference, Max manhandled Gunner Gus across the pavement and attached the other half of the cufflinks to a parking meter.

"Put a dime in that," he ordered. His dejected captive complied meekly as Max made a brief shoe phone call for the pickup team. "Fang, you stand guard until they get here. And try to stay awake. Come on, 99."

He strode off down the sidewalk, setting a brisk pace.

"Where are we going?"

"To see if Agent 34 has a clue."

Gunner Gus, sitting cross-legged on the pavement, stared mournfully after them while Fang chewed contentedly on the hat.

 _The readers can be assured that Gus's time bomb will be found and deactivated safely. Three bombs left. Tick, tick, tick . . ._

xxxxx

They stopped at the entrance to a small park.

"Wait here and keep watch."

"Right."

Max walked into the park and strolled casually over to a large metal garbage bin. He stopped next to it but appeared to be concentrating on ignoring it for several seconds while making sure he was not being observed. Then he turned to it and spoke.

"34?" he enquired of the metal form.

The top of the bin opened revealing the expressionless face of a man embedded in the garbage within. "86."

"Anything?"

34 dug down into the garbage and withdrew an envelope which he handed out to Max.

"Fresh intelligence on Black Jack."

"Excellent," said Max, shaking some lettuce leaves away from the envelope.

He heard a thud and saw that a Frisbee had landed on the ground behind him. A little girl ran over and picked it up. She stared at Max, then at 34, who submerged himself into the garbage, and then back at Max.

"I'm helping keep our city clean," he said. He dropped a gum wrapper into the bin and closed the top.

The girl shrugged and ran back to her friends.

Max walked back to where 99 was waiting

"Fresh intelligence on Black Jack," he said, waving the envelope.

99 turned up her nose at the odor it exuded. "It doesn't smell very fresh."

Max opened the envelope and perused the file. "Real name Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov, former Soviet military."

99 looked over his shoulder at the accompanying mugshot of the thuggish countenance. "I wonder why they call him Black Jack."

"Probably his choice of weapon," Max said.

99 shook her head. "I think he's a gambler and blackjack is what he gambles on."

Max turned a page. "Looks like we're both wrong. It says here he's an English history buff with a specialty in 16th century pirates." He turned another page. "And he's a gambler who hits people with a blackjack when he loses."

"I never would have picked him as an Anglophile with that head of unkempt long hair and that scruffy beard. He must think it makes him look like a pirate."

Max squinted at her.

"Anglophile. Lover of English things."

"Long-haired Englishmen are all the rage right now, 99."

99 laughed. "That's true."

"And unless I miss my guess it gives me an idea of just where we might find him."

xxxxx

"He's here all right," 99 said. "Stuffing his face with fish and chips."

"Well," Max explained, "I thought that if he liked English things then he must like English food, and if he liked English food then Dan's Tea Room would be where he'd come."

99 looked around her at the diners enjoying such delicacies as steak and kidney pie, corned beef and cabbage, and suet pudding in the genteel atmosphere of an English country inn. "How did you know about this place?'

Max raised his eyebrows. "I'm a man about town, 99," he replied in a faintly hurt tone.

A few tables away from their own, the fearsome Black Jack was eloquently expounding on his favorite subject, "And zo, my dear friends, zat is vhy Zir Francis Drake can lay claim to being ze greatezt pirate in hiztory", eliciting nods and an appreciative "Hear, hear!" from his tablemates whose aristocratic grooming provided a startling contrast with that of the slovenly speaker. The oddly erudite bomb-planting ruffian graciously acknowledged their accolades with a slight bow.

99 couldn't help being fascinated by how such dichotomous personality traits could co-exist within the one individual. She turned back to Max, thinking that, in a different way, the same might be said about him.

"They have darts here," Max was saying. "I'll challenge Black Jack to a match. That will give you the opportunity to drop a tranquilizer into his drink. Those cronies of his don't look like KAOS agents but I don't want to take the chance that he'll capture us instead of vice versa."

"A tranquilizer, Max? I don't think-"

"We can't poison him, 99. We need him to reveal the whereabouts of the bomb."

"Exactly, Max. But he doesn't look like he'll be leaving here anytime soon. Why not call the pickup team now? They can handle them all if necessary and get him back to CONTROL that much sooner?"

Max glanced at where Black Jack was still holding forth before his enthralled audience, their plates piled high with food. "I suppose you're right," he said reluctantly. "Time _is_ of the essence." He paused. "It's just that I haven't had a good round of darts in a long while."

"I can throw darts, Max."

"You can?" he lowered his eyes and then looked up at her again. "Maybe we could throw them together sometime."

"I'd like that."

Rather than take his shoe off at the table, Max made the call using his more discreet wrist communicator. When he was done, his demeanor was back to his usual confidence, some might even say pomposity. "That's two down and two to go," he announced.

 _Tick, tick . . ._

xxxxx

"Thanks, Saunders!" Max called as the pickup team hauled a struggling Black Jack into a unmarked black van while his erstwhile acolytes, who had indeed proved to have been ignorant of his clandestine activities, watched goggle-eyed from a safe distance.

"That's not Saunders, Max," 99 told him. "Saunders works in the lab."

"He looks like Saunders," Max objected.

"I know but it isn't him."

"Maybe he's his brother."

The van drove away and the shaken spectators retreated back inside, no doubt to seek fortification in the form of a hot cup of orange pekoe.

"What now, Max?"

"Now we find another clue," he replied, as if it were as simple as turning over a card.

99 pointed down the street. "There seems to be some disturbance down there. I think we should check it out."

"It would have to something unusual," Max mused. He scratched his head, oblivious to the sound of raised voices that was starting to drift their way. "Something you don't see every day."

"Something's happening at the intersection. People are getting out of their cars and running away!"

"But how would we recognise it if it is a clue?" Max wondered to himself.

99 got out her lipstick telescope. "A man with a bomb!" she exclaimed.

 _Tick . . ._

"A man with a bomb would be a good clue," Max admitted.

"Max! Listen to me! There's a man down there with a bomb!"

He blinked at her. "Really? Now there's a coincidence . . . 99, I think we should check it out."

"Good thinking, Max." Somehow she managed to say it without a trace of sarcasm.

They set of at a trot, passing a number of screaming people running in the opposite direction.

As they got closer they were able to make out the miscreant standing in the middle of the intersection wearing a gaudy yellow jacket and bright red shirt. He was carrying a sinister black sphere on which, to avoid any confusion, were stencilled, in white, the words "time bomb".

"That's not just any man with a bomb, 99," said Max. "That's Bomber Bill, the leader of the gang!"

Max and 99 both drew their guns.

"Bomber Bill!" Max called out. "In the name of all that's good and nice, I order you to give yourself up!"

"I'm a KAOS agent!" Bill sneered. "I don't believe in good and nice!"

"Then would you take cash?"

"Forget it, Smart!"

"You know who I am?"

"Sure. You read my file and I read yours"

"Well, turnabout _is_ fair play."

"Try this for fair play, Smart! I know you've been rounding up my squad and forcing them to reveal where they hid their bombs. Well, you won't have to take me in. You want to know where and when my bomb is set to go off? I'll tell you for nothing. It's here and . . . " Max and 99 stood transfixed in horror as he produced a watch and grinned evilly. ". . . NOW!"

Max was never quite sure what happened then.

The next thing he knew was flat on his back with clouds of smoke and dust wafting above him and the sounds of sirens wailing in his ears.

He sat up and looked around. Others had fallen nearby while some were still running away screaming, though the danger seemed to have passed. Ahead of him, in the middle of the intersection, there was a crater where the bomb and the bomber had been; and, about fifteen feet to his left, lying motionless, was 99.

He got up and ran over to her. Kneeling on the ground, he cradled her in his arms. Medics started arriving on the scene and one rushed up to them. Max looked up at him, pleading.

"You've got to save her."

xxxxx

Max paced nervously back and forth in the crowded hospital waiting room. A cigarette smoldered between his fingers, in defiance of the No Smoking sign on the wall, but he butted it out in a pot plant when he saw the nurse approaching.

"Mr. Smart, your friend will be released shortly," she told him. "You can go to her room and see her now if you want."

Max wanted very badly. When he got to the door he was relieved to see that, apart from a few scratches, 99 looked very much back to her old self.

"Good to see you up and around," he said.

"I'm fine, Max. I just knocked myself out when I hit my head when I fell. Then the doctors insisted on running some tests to make sure there were no internal injuries from the shockwave." She looked at him with concern. "The nurse said you've been here all night."

"I was worried about you."

"Then you missed the KAOS deadline. Did the fourth bomb go off, too?"

"No. It turned out that Singapore Sam - the fourth bomber - was picked up for speeding earlier in the day. Apparently he's a leadfoot behind the wheel. Anyway, to cut a long story short, a player with the Metropolitan PD recognized him from the Chief's Interagency Alert and they handed him over to CONTROL with time to spare."

"So the game's over." She gave him a crooked smile. "Three out of four. That's not bad,"

"That's what I told the Chief. He said that since all four saboteurs were . . . taken off the board so to speak, and the one bomb that did explode only caused minimal damage, he deemed this a successful mission."

"That's wonderful, Max. That means that you're still in line for that gold star on your report card."

"I don't care about the gold star. I care about . . ." The words had tumbled out before he'd realized it. He took a breath. "99, there's something I need to tell you."

"What is it, Max?"

"99 . . when I thought you were hurt, I . . . "

"Yes, Max?"

Max was standing close to her now. The gazed at each other for a long moment. Their lips drifted closer together . . . 99 closed her eyes . . . and Max's shoe phone rang.

99's eyes opened.

"Duty calls," Max said.

"Yes."

He slowly backed away from her and took off his shoe.

"Maxwell Smart, Agent 86, here."


End file.
